


Eumoirous

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Blood and Gore, Drama, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, au where Rick and Michonne didn't hook up, season 6 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:59:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7762381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time in a long time, his own smile didn't feel like a grimace against his teeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onedayoujustchange](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=onedayoujustchange).



> Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: For onedayyoujustchange who asked for: “How about one where Tobin pursues Rick :)” – Naturally this is a Rick Grimes/Tobin story.
> 
> Disclaimer: adult language, canon appropriate violence, blood and gore, slow burn, mild sexual content, roughly follows canon season 5-6 events, au where Rick and Michonne don’t hook up but instead- Tobin bags himself Rick Grimes with a lot of innocent, low-key trying.

He still wasn't quite awake when he ambled down the stairs and caught a flash of unfamiliar and out of place at the dining room table. He came around the corner a bit slower than he normally would have and definitely a bit more cautious. The muscles in his shoulders pulling tight before-

"Tobin?"

The man looked up. Sending him a warm smile and a nod from the dissembled innards of at least two different Glocks. Polishing rag wrapped around the strong of his index finger as the man cleaned the inside piston with the tip of the same extendable rod he'd used on his python the day before.

"Rick, sorry if I woke 'ya." Tobin greeted, not seeming to catch his relieved sigh as he relaxed in increments. Fingers straying away from the snaps of his holster in favor of leaning up against the wall, gesturing over at the mess that was currently taking up at least half of the table.

"What's all this?" he asked, easy but firm. Still friendly enough to still come out unaccusing even though part of him was wondering exactly why the man was alone in the same house his children were sleepin' in.

"Boredom, mostly," Tobin admitted, leaning back in his chair and stretchin' with the exact same smile. The checkered green and blue plaid of his long sleeve shirt pulling tight. Highlighting strong shoulders and barrel chest before slumping off into obscurity again when the man relaxed. "Carol asked me to come over. Said she needed some help moving things in the basement."

_Ah._

"She was about to tell me what she wanted me to do when Maggie needed her for something. Told me to wait right here, she wouldn't be long. It's been a while and frankly- I just got off night-watch so I'm beat. I needed something to do so I didn't nod off. Figured that since the stuff was out I might as well make sure these are in workin' order," Tobin shared, frowning a bit as a muted shower of black gunk flaked across the polished wood of the table. "To be honest I can't remember the last time I cleaned them. Must be gettin' sloppy."

A muscle twitched in his cheek.

_Sloppy. Complacent. Weak._

But for once he kept the thoughts firmly to himself.

Instead, he watched the confident way Tobin twirled one of the cleaning picks between his thumb and forefinger. Double checking each piece before setting it aside. _Practiced_. Taking a brass-bristled brush to the rest. Apparently unperturbed by his audience as the man kept his concentration on the task at hand.

It reminded him of the early days. Those first few weeks where almost everyone was on the same level. The same place. Where it hadn't just been Andrea wanting - no, _needing_ \- to learn, but eventually Glenn, Lori, Carl, Carol- everyone. Only Tobin did it like breathing. Every movement was precise and easy. Speaking of more practice than was strictly necessary, but habit forming all the same.

"These yours?" he asked, gesturing at the twin Glocks after the pause threatened to morph into something else. Something seeded with strain and discomfort. Finding it odder than anything when he realized that was actually the last thing he wanted as Tobin looked up with a nod and pleasant expression. Second guessing himself as he tried to untangle why that was as Tobin answered.

"This one is," the man remarked, tapping an overlarge pinky on the one on his right. "This other one- well, I guess it is now. But-"

He cocked his head when the man trailed off. Curiosity was a new emotion as far as his opinion of Tobin went. But there was something on his face right now that demanded another look. He'd always figured Tobin was one of those people that were the exact same person on the inside as they were on the out. Gentle, strong, dependable, naïve and just a bit too trusting when it came to things he probably shouldn't have been. And maybe he still was, but the hesitation – even in this one thing – had caught his interest more than anything else.

"I've always had this one," Tobin explained, gesturing at the piece he'd pointed to first. Putting the last few pieces together before he picked it up and checked it over, aiming the gun away as he dry fired, checking to make sure everything clicked through smoothly before setting it aside. "Only gun I ever had in the house. My wife hated it. Said she didn't marry a _mountain_ for no reason. It was a joke we had. But really, she just didn't like guns much. Can't say I blamed her. Not with kids in the house."

_Not with kids in the house._

_Not with kids in the house._

_Not with-_

Tobin lived in Alexandria alone.

No wife.

No kids.

No-

Second-hand horror was a gut-wrenching twist of a thing, he realized distantly.

He'd almost forgotten the taste of it in his mouth.

"But this one- well- when everything happened I was at work. I got home in time to get my family out. We were all stuffed in the van and following a bunch of my neighbours out when the car in front of us- something happened. Someone must have been bit and turned. No one knew back then that was how it spread. It blocked the street and things got crazy. People were driving across lawns, trying to ram their way through the road-block. Screaming. Honking, and suddenly it was like- all those things were just everywhere. The kids were screaming and I- I froze I guess. I didn't know what to do. I mean, what the hell do you do in a situation like that?" Tobin remarked, hoarse and just a little bit wounded as he looked up at him like he had the answers.

And while he didn't - not even close - that didn't stop him from broaching the space and pulling out the chair across from him. Long legs folding as he turned the chair backwards and leaned his arms against the back.

"I missed the start," he admitted, scratching at the stubble he'd missed under his chin as Tobin looked up, surprised. Expression softening back into something that lessened the tension he hadn't even been aware was building in his chest until the moment it started to ease. "I took a bullet in a shootout couple weeks before everything started. I woke up from a coma to all this. Deserted town. Deserted house. Bodies everywhere. It didn't seem real. Nearly got myself killed before Morgan and his boy found me, wandering around like an idiot."

Tobin made a sound of disbelief deep in his throat, rising a brow before shaking his head.

"Honestly, I'm not sure if you were lucky or even worse off than the rest of us," the man admitted. "Those first few weeks were something else. First it was riots. Then it a virus. Then it was… _this_."

"I don't know," he replied honestly. Surprising himself because it was the truth. Part of him always wondered if it would've been better – if things would have turned out different – if he'd been with Lori and Carl from the start. But on the other hand-

"It wasn't until the truck behind us tried to ram us out of the way that I realized I had to get us out of there. We got out, grabbed the kids and ran. We must have made it three blocks before my youngest twisted her ankle. I was out of bullets and there were walkers all around us. People we knew, people we saw on the street every day. Then this woman- she was police - I never really asked, just assumed – wearing full gear, with an AK-47 came barrelling out of an alley, yelling like a maniac. She got in front of us and just went to town. She put every single one down before she turned around and looked me dead in the eye. And that was when I saw it," Tobin said softly, something dark and angry passing across the man's expression for the first time.

"There was this tiny little bite-mark on her cheek and she looked at me, you know? She looked at me, my wife and my kids and just- I knew, you know? She knew it too. But I told her not now. Not yet. Not in front of my kids. Honestly, the words that came out of my mouth? I'm not even sure all of them made sense, but it got to her somehow. She was wild, almost hyper-ventilating but after that she just sort of…fell into me. People needing people, I guess. She came with us, helped us make it to the safe zone before she-"

He didn't have to say anything else.

"Anyway, this one," Tobin hesitated, patting the barrel of the other gun. The one where you could just make out the worn initials of A.G on the bottom of the stock, "was hers. It felt right keeping it, you know?"

He nodded, wordless.

It wasn't until Tobin cracked a yawn, muffling it against the back of his hand before sliding the Glock into his spare holster, that he figured it was time to let the man get some rest.

"Well, let's go see if we can figure it out what Carol wanted moved, huh?" he offered, getting up from his chair as Tobin blinked up at him tiredly. "There's no tellin' when she'll be back and I'd hate to keep you up on our account."

"Oh, I don't mind," Tobin returned with a smile – like being open with the expression had never burned him – before following him down towards the basement stairs. "But a nap does sound pretty damn good right about now."

For the first time in a long time, his own smile didn't feel like a grimace against his teeth.


	2. Chapter 2

_"You know, you scared the hell out of people when we first saw you."_

_"I know."_

_"You scared the hell out of me. With that beard. The way you looked around like you were seeing things we weren't...hiding around corners. Turns out you were. Things moved slow here. And then things just started moving fast. Too fast. But don't give up on us."_

* * *

The ironic part was that later - when he was sitting beside Carl's bed - trying not to mourn the empty space that was going to exist underneath the bandages, Tobin's words from before the walls had come down were all he could really think about.

In retrospect, he could admit to being in a bit over his head before Tobin showed up. He knew the principal behind what he wanted to do - shoring up the walls, trying to make them stronger. But had none of the practical experience. How to get from A and B, all the way to C with just his hands, a hammer and a half box of nails.

But when Tobin had shown up? Hell, it'd been like watching someone in their element. Someone that understood the wood and the angles. Someone how knew the rasp of the grain and the weight each plank could take.

More than that, out of everyone - even his own group - Tobin had told him the _truth_.

Seemed like a rare commodity these days.

Still precious even when it wasn't pretty or particularly nice to hear.

Only, somehow, Tobin had managed to make it meaningful instead of needling.

He still wasn't sure how that worked, but he was content to keep it that way.

At least for now.

With Carl hurt, he was taking things one day at a time.

It was all he trusted himself to do right now.

* * *

All that aside, things seemed to close in on him whenever he tried to sleep. The way Tobin had been by the infirmary twice to check on Carl. Bringing him some chocolate bar he'd been saving for a rainy day. Small things. _Good things._ Things that left him with a big bunch of impressions he didn't really know what to do with, to be perfectly honest.

It reminded him of how they'd found each other in the dark that night. Blood bleeding slick off the blades of their machetes. Fighting back to back for the longest time before the herd separated them again. With Tobin peeling off to help Aaron, Eric and Francine as a cluster of walkers tried to close in on them. The looming shadow of his outline a sure sight to see in the pale of the moon. Skin specked red and eyes wide with it – horror, anger, fear, frustration - all of it. Everything he'd been keeping in. Everything this entire thing had taken from him. A collective well of rage each and every person drew from right when they needed it. That small, secret part of them that _relished_ in it. Something that still recognized the bitter of warm blood against their tongues and the taste of victory in the air.

But most of all, he remembered how empty the line of his back had felt when the man had left. And worse, how not even Daryl, Glenn or even Michonne seemed to measure up compared to Tobin's tall, steady strength.

It had him in a weird place.

Not a bad place.

He'd already figured that one out for himself.

Just strange.

_Different._

There seemed to be a lot of that going around these days.


	3. Chapter 3

"Up! Up!"

He was on the porch a couple days after the worst portion of the wall had been repaired. Talking to Daryl and Michonne. Keeping an eye on Judith who was sitting on a blanket spread across the front lawn. Cooing at her toys and talking nonsense to the world at large when her high pitched gurgle caught his attention. Cutting through the bureaucratic tangle of guard rotations and how much fuel they reckoned Alexandria had in storage as Tobin paused on the sidewalk heading towards his house at the end of the street.

He looked up just in time to watch the man set aside his rifle and sink down on his haunches. Smile beatific and wide as Judith flapped her arms at him. Half a wave, the other a demand, like she'd taken to doing recently. Spoiled to high heaven, of course. Not that he blamed her for it. There certainly wasn't any shortage of people willing to lavish attention on her, and of course, Tobin seemed to be one of them.

"Well, hello there little lady," Tobin greeted, looking up at them carefully – like he was making sure they saw – before switching his attention back to matters closer to the ground.

"Can't walk yet huh?" Tobin observed as Judith reached for him, bouncing on her butt with impatience. Stating the obvious as Daryl and Michonne trailed off in mid-sentence to look.

"Looks like you have them fooled though. Carrying you around everywhere. Bet you think that's a sweet deal, huh? But see, I know better. You're ready to do it. I can tell. You just gotta get off that butt, kiddo," the man hummed, poking her side with gentle tickles as Judith squealed in glee. Almost tipping over when Tobin let go of a deep, genuine laugh that Judith seemed to take to immediately.

_And she wasn't the only one._

"Yeah, I'm on to you, sweetheart," Tobin chuckled, tickling under her tubby little chin when Judith managed to grab his finger in both her hands. Examining it with faux seriousness until she was laughing again. "If you want up, those are the rules. You gotta give me a few steps. Think you can do that? Hmm?"

He leaned against the porch railing, transported. Caught in a strange place that existed somewhere between pleasure and discomfort. Not quite sure what to do with the warm frisson of electricity sinking deep and comfort-like in the pit of his belly the longer he watched.

Michonne shifted beside him.

Feeling the weight of her eyes trying to catch his.

He didn't take the bait.

Instead, he watched Tobin rock back on his heels, tall frame curling inwards as he held out his hands encouragingly. Piling on the praise as Judith crawled determinedly to her feet. Wavering a bit as she pulled herself upright. Still chanting "up, up, _up!_ " with growing pitch and volume as Daryl snorted beside him.

"Little asskicker seals the deal now and Glenn is out three chocolate bars and two mickeys of vodka," Daryl rasped, sounding strangely pleased as he watched Judith's face scrunch up in concentration. Nearly falling flat on her face before righting herself.

_Gravity was hard when you were ten months._

"You guys are betting on when she's going to walk?" he remarked, eyebrow raised like he was above such things even though everyone and their dog knew he'd lost his own bet last month when Judith couldn't quite get from point a to point b without scooting on her butt. "Is nothing sacred?"

"Says the guy that lost what? Half a box of Big Reds because he was stupid enough to go all in?" Michonne sing-songed. Twisting her dreads behind her with an elastic and laughing when he nudged her playfully. Looking back at the scene playing out in front of them with open interest.

"Come on now, that's it. See? Easy peasy," Tobin told her as she lost her balance and planted a grimy little fist into the grass. Righting herself before straightening again. Holding his arms out wide as she wobbled forward.

He sucked in a breath when she took her first step. Then her second. Falling flat on her butt on the third only to get up and try again. Making grabby hands as Tobin encouraged her forward, coaxing and prodding until suddenly- _she was there_. Tottering through the last few steps and falling right into his arms with an excited giggle. Little legs wind-milling as she went airborne.

Tobin swung her up with a whoop. Propping her up on the wide of his shoulder as Michonne clapped and Daryl hid a smile into the curl of his collar. He smiled, but internally he had no idea what was going on. Wondering if this was something he was going to have to make sense of right now before Tobin solved that part for him and took the entirety of the steps in one easy movement.

"Did you see that!? Were those her first?" Tobin asked excitedly. Eyes bright like the entire thing had been a rush as Daryl gave her an open-palmed high five before sidling off the deck and across the street where Glenn and Maggie were coming around the corner.

He nodded mutely. Feeling the smile spread across his face as Judith slid down from his shoulder and arranged herself in the cradle of the man's arms. Comfy as can be. Watching him watching her with those big doe eyes, blinking slow like she was about to fall asleep.

There was a companionable silence after that. A smattering of moments where Michonne looked between them, smiling. Apparently not inclined to share whatever she found so amusing as she ducked down and gave Judith a kiss before heading off herself. Trailing after Daryl with a particular look on her face. Something that eventually got lost when he looked back and noticed Judith starting to droop to port in Tobin's arms.

"Looks like she's about done for now, want me to take her?" he asked, already reaching forward as Judith rubbed her eyes sleepily.

"Nah, she's fine," Tobin hummed, looking pleased as anything as he hefted her easily.

There was an awkward a beat before-

"Unless- unless this isn't okay?" the man added carefully, looking it him with dawning realization. Catching on to the underlying mood of the moment. A slow moving shift of muscles and sinews as the man's expression turned knowing. Already starting to untangle Judith's fingers from his shirt collar. Ready and willing to give her back as he exhaled slowly through the cracks between his teeth.

Thing was, it _wasn't_.

_It hadn't been._

Not until right this second, anyway.

Not until he was able to really take it in. Watching his daughter riding high in another man's arms. Expertly cradled in a way that spoke of more experience than he'd ever have. With an expression that said there was _nothing_ he'd hate more than to give her back - but he would.

_And that was the difference._

That was where the afterimage of Shane faded and left only Tobin standing in front of him. Face full of the same longing - the same need – but with no desire to cross that line. Not now. Not ever.

"It's alright," he managed, swallowing thickly as the truth rose out of the back of his throat like something heavy. Something significant. "She likes you."

The man's grin was blinding, but slow to form.

"You're lucky, at this age they're usually mom, dad or nothing," Tobin observed, adjusting her a bit so that she was caught soundly in the curve of his arm. Drooling contently into the strong of his chest. Making it look easy – _natural._

"She grew up around a lot of hands," he shared, not quite sure what made him say it. Why he was trusting Tobin with something SO private. Things he and Carl didn't even talk about, but rather accepted as facts and kept emotions away from it.

"Takes a village, right?" Tobin echoed, hips shifting from side to side in a slow unconscious rock he doubted the man was even aware of. Putting a surprisingly different spin on something that had been just another harsh reality on the road. "That's what they say, isn't it?"

Now that he was up close, he had to admit that for once – everything else aside - he wasn't sure if he liked what he saw. Tobin looked worn. He was sure there was another word for it, a better one, but he couldn't quite grasp it. It was more than just the dark circles punched deep under his eyes. More than the dull sheen of his skin and the careful way he held himself. Like he was one muscle movement away from a flinch. It was something else. Something that tasted bitterly familiar and-

"You alright?"

Tobin just blinked before-

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired," the man answered as the breeze kicked up the longer wisps of his hair.

He fixed him with a look, but didn't call him on it.

Instead, he surprised himself by drawing it out.

Like he couldn't quite let it go.

"It gets easier," he offered, hands on his hips as he let his right leg rotate on its heel. Softening his stance to something less aggressive as Tobin's posture slowly unkinked itself. Straightening to his full height as discomfort rose wearily to the forefront. Just like things always tended to when two men who usually kept their own counsel tried to navigate the minefield that came part and parcel with slippery, private things like feelings.

The frown was back on Tobin's face.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Tobin murmured quietly. Shaking his head like he didn't quite understand the words, but felt like he had to say them anyway.

"Yes. You _should_ be afraid. Getting used to killing isn't something any of us should ever be comfortable with. We can't stop feeling it, otherwise- what are we?" he negated. Stopping Tobin cold as the man looked back at him, listening. The blunt of his thumb rubbing gently against the pudge of Judith's cheek. Adding a complexity to the moment that'd been building for a while now. Something delicate and small, but unrepentantly alive.

_Growing._

"But I don't mean it that way. Not exactly. You get used to it. Fighting. It takes a lot out of you and sometimes you can get lost it in. Just remember what you're fight for – what's at stake - and you'll be fine. This place is different than out there. _It's life_. But because of that it means people will want it- it means they'll want to take it. Want to make it their own."

"And if you hadn't come along when you did, then they would have" Tobin pointed out. Breaking the quiet with a gentle rejoinder that reminded him of crushing his knees against the blacktop as Deanna put her hands up, placatingly. Aiming his gun at-

"Who knows what would have happened," he started, trying to back out of that branch of conversation before Tobin shook his head. Looking down at him in that way he had.

"I know. We all do," Tobin told him, rocking Judith back and forth as the sound of laughter floated down the street. "Look around, Rick. Look at what happened. Those people were just out there, looking to kill. It wasn't even the walkers, not really. The reason we were in that mess was because of _people_. And honestly, that just makes it worse. We lost people, good people, for no good reason. If they'd come to us. Needed us, like you guys did, we could have worked together. But-"

Anger and frustration did something shadowed and strange to the man's face.

Looking distinctly out of place on Tobin's placid, easy-going features.

He disliked it immediately.

"I'm the first to admit that maybe I'm not suited to this- to this life- to _killing_ ," Tobin said hesitantly, eyes boring into his – painfully honest with an expression that was clearly still hoping for the best case scenario. "But I'm willing to learn. The world might get better, it might not, but _I want to try_."

He smiled, feeling it stretch across his face. Apparently habit forming as far as Tobin was concerned. Filing the man's words away to think on later before he turned towards the stairs. Huffing a laugh when Judith made a disgruntled snuffling into the puff of Tobin's sleeve.

"Com'on, we'll get her down for a nap. I think there's still some whisky in the liquor cabinet in here somewhere if you're willin'."

Tobin knuckled the back of his head thoughtfully. Smiling tiredly before nodding and making to follow him up and into the house. Close and warm at his back. Making something hot flare in his belly when the vibrations of the larger man's steps coursed through his worn soles like a tell.

"Normally I'm not much of a drinker, but yeah- with the week we've had? Sign me up for that."


	4. Chapter 4

"We do what we need to do, and _then_ we get to live," he murmured, repeating the same words he'd uttered to the others not that long ago. Back when Washington, D.C was still a thing. Back before Aaron and Eric and Alexandria and the unexpected hope this place had given them.

The leather chair across from him creaked as Tobin leaned forward, setting his empty glass on the coffee table. Missing the coaster by a mile and looking absolutely unrepentant about it as static crackled from the baby monitor that was propped up on the foot rest between them.

"It's not a bad thing, you know?" Tobin countered, looking at him in that way he had, the one that was complacent, easy, self-serving and maybe even a bit stuck in the past as far as what it took to survive these days. "To celebrate the simple things in life? Last time I checked, we only get one. And lately it seems like it's sell by date keeps getting bumped up."

He closed his eyes, then opened them again.

The action exaggerated and tense.

Giving him time to think.

_He'd been so sure when he'd said it, but now-_

_Now_ _maybe not._

Maybe it was more about the meaning behind the words rather than the flippant way they came out. Maybe it was about seeing different views on the same window ledge. Maybe Tobin was right just as much as he was wrong. Maybe it was possible they were both right – just in different ways. Maybe the way he'd figured things out – the way he'd made sense of it in his head – wasn't the only way.

The silence that aired out afterwards was comfortable. Even if the sting of overthinking stuck to it like glue. Just present enough to be mired in agreeable discomfort. Just enough to make him want to move on from it. To cover it over and bury it as Tobin watched him quietly. Expression remarkably empty of judgement. It made him uncomfortable. It didn't want to linger on why.

He shook his head, feeling the words come up on him again.

Wondering, not for the first time, why he felt compelled to share them.

There was just something about Tobin that made him want to-

"When we were out there, alone, I told everyone that. That we had to do what we needed to, and then maybe, just maybe, we'd get to live. That we'd make it. I don't know. Being out there? You never really sleep, you know? You're always waiting – waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the walkers to come at you out of nowhere. For people to come across you and-"

A small furrow took up residence between Tobin's eyes, but he didn't interrupt.

Instead, he just listened.

"It's dark out there, and yeah- we're still adjusting. Still trying to remember how this whole day to day works when the world is like it is out there. But that doesn't mean we aren't right. You know that- you've seen some of it. You've fought for this place. But you don't _really_ know. None of you do. You were lucky- or maybe not, depending how you look at it. We've been out there since the beginning, all of us. We've had places, good places, places like this-" he gestured, crooked hands flicking up at the scraped smooth ceiling and the spotless white vents that hushed air-conditioning – a luxury of all things - down on them. "-taken from us."

"Spencer told me you guys were at a prison? Glenn said something about the crops you were growing there," Tobin interjected, fingers laced together in front of him. Quiet but earnest. "What was that like?"

He ran his hands through his hair. Remembering the echoing walls and the phone that only rang when he was around. He remembered Lori's ghost and the empty grave. But then he remembered how laughter seemed to spread its way through the drafty place as more and more people came to call it home. Grateful people. Good people.

"It was the closest thing to home since we got run off Maggie's farm," he answered honestly. "We spent the winter going from house to house, place to place, half starved. It seemed like no matter how long we walked, no matter how quiet we were, the walkers always found us. Back then it was better to move on then waste bullets. When we found it, it was overrun. Full of walkers. Something must have happened inside, someone died or got bit. Anyway, they all turned. The prisoners, the guards, all of them. They were all there inside, milling inside the fence. Contained," he shared, taking a long drink as the burning hum of the potent liquor warmed his insides on the way down.

"We needed a place. Lori- my wife – she was already late term with Judith. She couldn't run anymore. The baby was due any day so I made the call. We all decided. We were gonna take the place. And we did. We cleared it," he continued, experiencing the moment second-hand through his own memories as he spoke.

"There were a couple convicts still inside, they'd held up in the galley, worked their way through the food stores ever since everything went downhill. They had no idea what'd happened on the outside. Thought the phones were still working and everything. They thought we were there to save them," he remembered, chuckling dryly. "A couple of them were good enough people, but the other two…well-"

"Weren't," Tobin responded archly, understanding.

"Yeah," he echoed, tipping back the last of his glass as he kept the warm amber liquid in his mouth for a handful of seconds. Soaking in the flavor. "Seems like that's the way the world is these days."

"It's the way the world _always_ was," Tobin negated, surprising him by shaking his head. "There's just less in the way now. Less distractions. Less structure. The world might not be the same, but it _isn't_ different."

An echo of Hershel's kind eyes flashed in his mind's eye like a reminder as he shifted.

"Never thought about it like that," he mused. Settling on honesty as he leaned forward to match him. "Figured all this time we were better than that. More. Maybe we were all kidding ourselves."

A thoughtful look twitched across Tobin's features, adding dimples and weight to the lines of his mouth before smoothing away again.

"No, not kidding ourselves," Tobin answered, black t-shirt tight around his arms and shoulders like it was just a half-size too small. "Most people, the good ones, aren't meant to see it that way. That's why you had your job, at the Police Station, right? You protected people from themselves, from the world. From the bad things that try to wriggle their way into places they shouldn't."

"I may not have been out there like you were," Tobin started, looking up at him through surprisingly thick lashes. Capturing him in place. "But I know people. And I like to think I know the bad from the good. And no matter what you might think, no matter what you've done or what you might think of yourself when the lights go out- I want you to know that I know where I stand. And that's with you – all of you. If you'll have me."

His mouth was dry. Parched and collapsing in on itself as he floundered.

He opened his mouth, rasping air, only to have the man himself save him from answering.

"Heavy thoughts deserve heavy liquor," Tobin thrummed with a grin. Eyes laughing, flashing bright despite the low light, as he levered himself to his feet and walked over to the counter for the bottle. Determined and loose. Like what he'd said only a moment ago had been honest and free of commitment. "What do you say, deputy?"

He took a deep breath.

Refusing to choke on it when he looked up and caught the man staring.

"Can't argue with that," he replied. Smiling back fully, regardless of the brittle-thin breaks the expression left behind.

* * *

He didn't sleep that night, or the one after.

* * *

 He wasn't sure exactly how, but soon enough it became a thing they did together. Ending the day with a glass of something and some company. Most times it was out on the porch watching Judith muck about on the lawn. But sometimes it ended up gravitating into the relative quiet of one of their living rooms. Soaking in the normalcy and the low talk along with the throw blankets and stupid decorative pillows he swore seemed to multiply every time he looked away.

It was how Tobin fit - seamless and easy - that got to him first. How it was effortless. How he enjoyed it - _him_. How nothing about it was hard. Bad. Or wrong. How the odd day neither of their schedules matched up seemed to drag on for half of forever and how he'd find himself looking forward to the next day more than the end of the first.

It felt like being a jerky, awkward teenager all over again. And while half of him was cautious, the other half couldn't help but start getting hopeful about things. About all the other possible reasons for the man's open smile and the way he leaned in sometimes, just an inch too close.

Then, one day, while out with Heath and Spencer inspecting the eastern point of the wall, Tobin went missing.


	5. Chapter 5

"He's fine, probably just got turned around out there when the walkers separated them. We'll go and find him," Michonne assured. Meeting him at the bottom of the porch as Spencer and Health ranged around in worried off-centre circles orbiting them. Sheathing her katana with a seamless flip as she pressed close – assuring.

He just nodded. Not trusting himself to speak. Tasting the grey-stale of worry lumped thick in the back of his throat as his hand ghosted down the side of his holster. Saying nothing when Glenn, Rosita and Daryl joined the four of them at the gate. No words required. Ducking into two different trucks as the idea of overkill flirted its way briefly to the forefront before being dismissed just as quickly.

Tobin was out there, counting on them.

Therefore overkill was just a phrase people used to excuse themselves from caring.

And that wasn't him.

 _Not anymore._  
  
Not when it came to Tobin, anyway.

* * *

 

"You got attached," Michonne observed later, once they were out on their own. Split up and trying to cover as much ground as possible.

"This is our home, isn't it," he answered, eyes to the ground as they followed the trampled line of a recently made trail through the long grass. Feeling her a bit more insistently at his back than he figured she should have been, given the circumstances. "I'm trying, that's what we're doing here - in this place - isn't it?"

"No, I mean you've gotten attached to _him_. Why?" she returned, bending down to examine a broken off fern. Cut off and drooping like something had clipped it. Could have been an animal. Could have been something else. But at this point it was all they had to go on. Her focus split enough that he knew she wouldn't let it drop without a satisfactory answer.

"Why does anyone do anythang'?" he replied, returning her smile in miniature as they came up to a road.

"Because we do, we just do," she hummed, scanning the trash-littered blacktop for any sign Tobin had been this way as a row of dumpy, squat little homes wavered through the heat haze half a mile away. It seemed like as good a direction to head as any for the time being.

Tobin would have headed towards familiar ground.

Somewhere he felt safe.

"It's a good look on you, you know," she observed, walking confidently beside him. Glancing at him sideways in the same way Lori used to whenever she figured he wasn't telling her the whole truth about something silly. It was a playful look. Light. "Seeing you happy."

_Happy?_

Was that what it was?

_Was that what he felt when Tobin was around?_

Honestly he didn't know.

He didn't exactly have a frame of reference to work off of when it came to-

"I think he's been a good influence on you," Michonne added teasingly. Surprisingly decisive sounding for the caliber of smile on her face as they passed a shed with a creaking door. Circling around an overgrown spit of land where the dull ivory of animal bones glinted through the sun-bleached carcasses of at least half a dozen shapes hiding in the long grass.

"He's not like us," he said bluntly. Feeling like he had to remind them both as the silence started to weigh. Doing something strange to the low hum of insects and the wisp of the wind through the long grass growing wild on either side of the road. And still, there was nothing. The longer they went without a sign, the less likely Tobin was-

"He doesn't have to be," Michonne returned. Fast on the uptake like she _knew_ as she curved her stride into his for half a fraction. Sharing the same space – companionable and close – before branching off again. "There's no rule that says we all have to be the same. That we all have to be at the same level. Even out here."

He stopped, one hand clenched in the worn leather of his belt as he turned to face her. Squinting through the afternoon glare as the sun beat down mercilessly. Humid and heavy in his lungs as more than a few familiar emotions prickled.

"Yeah, but it helps, doesn't it?"

Her smile was strained this time around, but no less genuine.

* * *

 

They kept looking until two quick blasts of a car horn - their pre-arranged signal if anyone found something - startled the birds out of the trees.

By the time they got there, the others were already ringed around Daryl. Crouching beside a downed walker. There was a broken-off piece of metal embedded in its skull. Like someone had taken a metal shingle to it and sliced sideways like it was a Frisbee. A picture that was completed by a trail of red that staggered off down the road. And a single boot tread visible in the half-dried blood - angling due east.

"He's improvising," Daryl grunted, easing the sliver of metal out of the skull a couple inches before letting the corpse drop with clear disgust. "Must be out of ammo."

"That's good though, right? That means he's still fighting," Glenn interjected, one hand resting on his holster. Hopeful despite the flat set of his expression as the others milled around. One eye on the ground and the other on their surroundings. Watchful.

"This though-" Daryl added, pointing at the trail of blood. "-is fresh. That ain't walker blood."

He sank down on his haunches. Something cold and bitter-still making tracks in his chest as a flicker-flash of a possible present tense turned the near future into something hard to swallow. Part of him wanted it to be tangible. But the other part, the one that'd watched more than a few people die. Knew that anything could happen out here. Especially if you weren't used to surviving the same as they were.

_Tobin knew how to handle himself._

_More or less._

_But he wasn't them._

_He didn't have that experience, what if-_

He forced himself into grimness. Thin lipped and without words. Not trusting himself to say something he might regret as Spencer and Health shifted in self-crimination on the other side of the circle. Awkward and guilty like it was their fault even though it'd been the herd that'd separated them.

_He knew the odds._

_He knew the chances._

_He knew that every passing second the man wasn't within eyeshot mean't-_

"He's fine," Michonne assured again. Firm just like the hand that ghosted across the hollow of his shoulder as he eased himself back up. Knees _crick-cracking_ a negative as his free hand curled into a fist at his side. Pushing past the lot of them without a word as he headed off in the direction the blood was angling.

* * *

 

They found him wide-eyed and rank with speckled gore just before nightfall. At the very end of at least a half-dozen trail of walkers, holed up in the upper rung loft of an abandoned power plant. The place had been decommissioned before the end of things by the look of it. Covered with rust, graffiti and climbing vines. But clearly Tobin had headed straight for it. Reminding him of something he'd said in one of their late night conversations. Something about what he used to do for work before all this.

He'd eased open the door with his heart in his throat. Knowing somehow that either way this went, it was the end of the line. Pushing firm at the creaking metal as the bodies of the walkers, fresh and still bleeding forced him to dig his shoulder into it. Wincing at the sound as Daryl's crossbow firmed into the dip of his shoulder, ready to fire.

"Tobin?"

There was a moment of quiet. Stuttered and over-strong like not even the darkness could believe it, before the shadows above their heads _shifted_. Eyes adjusting slowly as he rediscovered him in that tired, wordless exhale that drifted down from the rafters. Staring at them with eyes that didn't look quite real in the glint of Rosita's flashlight.

Then, for the first time since Tobin had gone missing, everything started moving again.

He had his hands on him faster than he would have ever believed possible.

There was no hesitating.

_No nothing._

Just hands like claws trying to curve inwards as he tipped up the man's chin and searched him over for bite marks. Heart in his throat the entire damn time as the man's lashes fluttered, letting him.

Handsome in that same tired way he had as Tobin shook his hand in silent answer when he got to the bandage fastened double around the inside of his palm. Unwrapping it with angry reverence and examining the deep slice until Tobin gestured towards the shard of sheet metal he'd been using as a blade.

"My knife got stuck, I had to improvise," he explained quietly.

He barely registered the warmth of the others ringed around them. How they nodded and smiled and clasped their hands on his wide shoulders before moving away again. The two of them were the only constants in each other's orbit and he wouldn't have had it any other way. For him, all there was – _all that mattered_ \- was that Tobin was alright.

His hands stilled, remembering themselves belatedly when they threatened to ghost as far as the man's Adams apple. Smudging the spackled red as the muscles in Tobin's throat trembled. It was almost _offensively_ intimate. Yet it took everything he had to pull back in fractions. Far enough away to be border-line as he, Daryl and Spencer eased him down from the metal slates. Body stiff after a couple hours of sitting up in the eves. Out of range of anything that might sneak up on him when he had an injured hand and no bullets left in his gun.

"You alright?" he asked, voice like a stranger as it came out hoarse, soft like pillow-talk around the edges. Cushioning it in a way he knew Tobin didn't really need, but found himself wanting to give him anyway as haunted blue eyes caught on his and held him there.

"I am now," Tobin rasped back. Accepting Health's bottle of water gratefully despite never once looking away. Grounding them to the moment in a way he didn't quite know how to handle. But _hell_ if he wanted to give it up. Not when he had the feeling it could be the type of thing that could set down roots and weather almost anythang'.

He'd lived off the honest buoyancy of that warm relief for _days_ afterwards.


	6. Chapter 6

A week or so later he came out onto the porch to find Carl on the front steps, turning something over in his hands. Hair hanging down, covering a good portion his face as Carol and Daryl shared a cigarette across the street, talking quietly.

"Whatcha got there?" he asked, easing down beside him as he glanced over with idle interest. Not entirely expecting it when Carl merely handed it to him. A pistol in a brand new leather holster. His eyebrows rose when he eased it out, it was- _it was a Colt Python_. The same damn gun as the one on his hip right now. Only newer. Less jaded. Young.

"Tobin found it when he and Tara were out yesterday. He said it was only right that you and I have a matching set," he replied, thoughtful in that quietly resentful way that was inherent to teenagers everywhere.

He turned the stock. Angling the polished wood so that the engraved bottom glinted in the morning light – highlighted without apology or censure. Proud to still stand for something that had been lost a long time ago as he traced the words with the sharp of his nail.

_For my son, with love._

His throat bobbed.

Thick.

Possible.

"Dad?"

He looked up. Staying nothing about the over exaggerated cock of his son's head that enabled him to see with his good eye. His only eye. Recognizing the look on his face just as quickly as he had that time at the prison when Carl vouched for Michonne. It was almost exactly the same, only-

"I like him. Tobin, I mean. And I think- I think mom would have liked him too."

For a brief half second he wasn't unsure if the gun hadn't accidentally gone off in his hands. Realizing his ears were ringing as the syllables of Lori's name intermingled with Tobin's. It felt... _good_. It sounded good. Like it could be a good thing if it happened right. It made him realize exactly where this all ended. _What this had been leading up too_. What it'd probably been leading up to this entire time - at least on his end. And he had absolutely no idea how to go about-

"Yeah," he answered eventually, more grateful than ever that his son knew him. Content to just sit there beside him. Directing his gaze elsewhere as he slowly pulled himself together. Handing back the python and the holster as the callouses on Carl's hands temporarily highlighted just how much had changed since Lori's warm brown eyes were the only ones he'd ever wanted to wake up to. "She probably would have."

* * *

The kiss he got seized up in not that long after was careful. Breakable like glass, but the kind that immediately made you want more. Feeling the give and take of it as something in his hind brain went sloppy on him. Content and excited all at once - like pleasure points wanting to keep moving. Burrowing deep as the press and fabric-catch of clothes against clothes and skin against skin reanimated a part of him that'd been dusty and unused for a long time.

He felt what he figured the forth of July must have looked like.

Back when there was such a thing.

He was gone on it. He wasn't going to deny it. He was off and _gone_ on the frisson of heat that coursed through him every time their hips brushed. Cock firming up and taking an interest as Tobin's kisses turned just a titch more sure. Wanting. _More._ He arched up into him - one hand firm around the man's forearm – while the other wanting to migrate from his side to Tobin's shoulder, or maybe waist. Indecisive as Tobin's fingers ghosted the under of his chin. Like he wanted to pull him in, _pull him close_ , but didn't quite dare.

He was so invested in it, he barely noticed when their relationship with gravity shifted.

Tobin pulled away slowly. Like a silent question. Lips parted and devastatingly swollen looking as he stood there, stunned and maybe a bit small as Tobin looked down at him. Barrel chest rising and falling just a bit too fast. Stuck between want to arc up and bring him back down – worrying his teeth into the plump red of the man's lips until he coaxed out that sound again - and letting Tobin say what he needed to.

"I'm sorry, I just-" Tobin rasped, voice strained and surprisingly upset for a man who'd just been macking on him like his life depended on it. Wavering and blinking huge like he expected him to take a swing at him. Injecting just enough reality into the moment that all the reasons he'd had in mind when he'd knocked on the man's door after his conversation with Carl completely escaped him as he stood in the front hall of Tobin's house. A mess of a thousand or more plush little signals that were already starting to ease into uncertainty.

"I was afraid, but suddenly I wasn't sure what I was afraid of," Tobin said earnestly, holding his eyes just like he always did before they darted away again. Rubbing the back of his head like an uneasy tell as he looked at the floor. His feet. The vase on the side table. Then back to him again.

"I thought I knew. But when I was standing there, backed into a corner with my last round- I realized I didn't know anymore."

He looked at Tobin then.

_Really looked._

Once and for all, like what he saw was going to settle this somehow.

And sure enough-

"Oh," he said, dragging through the finishing lilt of the thing as he realized how deeply this whole thing ran. That it wasn't just him. Tobin felt it too. _Wanted it._ It might not be where he figured this'd all been going from the start, but it was what it was. Here. _Now._ And best of all, preciously possible.

_Oh._

There should have been other words, meaningful ones. Things Tobin deserved to hear. Things both of them did. But he didn't have them. He'd never been the type of person the right words came easy to. Only, it seemed like Tobin didn't need them - or even care like Lori might have. Instead, a small, hopeful looking smile made tracks across his face. Like he'd given him the world instead of just an uneasy silence.

"I might be a little out of practice with this," Tobin admitted, knuckling at the back of his neck with an awkward, self-disparaging chuckle. Cheeks tinged ruddy as he looked down at him through a fan of long lashes. Blue-green sleeves rucked up to reveal strong forearms and sun-kissed freckles as the urge to touch grew almost impossible to resist.

"I don't even have any," he answered honestly, hardly recognizing his own voice as it edged its way through a sudden wash of dryness. Tongue wetting damningly across his lower lip - like he was _really_ thinking about it - as Tobin's eyes followed the action like there was nowhere else they could possibly be. "Practice, I mean. At this. With-

"Men?" Tobin offered, quiet and just a little bit eager this time. Almost confident now as he shuffled a couple centimeters closer. Moving back into range with a deliberate sway. Until he was able to smell the solid scent of him. Waves of soap, wood dust and pine sap tickling at his sinuses in the best possible way. Reminding him by proxy that everything was connected as his cock twitched with interest in the firm of his jeans.

"Yeah."

Then, after a beat-

"Me either," Tobin admitted, one brow quirking up until the both of them were laughing. Bumping shoulders in the echoing space. Enjoying the moment for what it was. The start of something new – something good – in a world that seemed fresh out of both.

_Apparently he wasn't the only one that was new at this._

_Imagine that._

"I was thinking though," Tobin continued, head cocking slight to the side. Playful in a way that almost made him forget that they weren't younger, stupider and a complete mess of peach fuzz and hormones. "Thinking that we could maybe figure out that part later, together?"

It sounded like as good a plan as any. And apparently Tobin agreed. Letting go of a warm sounding groan that made him shiver – boots to brass – when he caught the plush of the man's lower lip between his teeth and tugged him down.

It was their time now.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:   
> \- “Eumoirous” is a rare word meaning: “happiness due to being honest and wholesome.”


End file.
